


Masquerade

by persephine



Category: Persona 5
Genre: F/M, Phantom of the Opera AU, all the thieves appear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 14:51:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17489999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephine/pseuds/persephine
Summary: Hide your face so the world will never find you.





	Masquerade

**Author's Note:**

> Long time no see.~ I think the tags are pretty self-explanatory, and I’ll let you all figure out everyone’s roles as the story goes on. The rating _may_ change, and as for the ending... you’ll see. The story is only very loosely based on the Phantom of the Opera, but I really just wanted to write about Makoto and Akechi struggling with their own versions of what justice means vs. doing the right thing. [insert further rambles of why I ship them here] I also struggled with feeling like I needed to put out an original plot of some sort, so I imagine that this series will be much shorter than the others I’ve written just to get it out of my system. I like writing twists and turns like in ‘Postulancy’ but good ideas are hard to come by sometimes. 
> 
> Also, I made a Twitter recently: @lokianat if you want to request to follow or bug me there at any point. Ko-fi requests are still open. I received a message recently about potential fic commissions, and as long as I’m writing for my ship, I’d be happy to indulge. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy ‘Masquerade!’

Flames flickered and reflected off the pool of water at Akechi Goro’s feet. For him, the average human’s concept of time didn’t exist, and so for fun he could’ve so easily laid in that pool for hours, drenching his hair and clothes as he stared up at the candle-lit flames that danced around him. He hid in the darkness where he felt safe and sure. In his free time, he dabbled in anything and everything— after all, he had all the time in the world. At times he’d learn tricks, his favorite. He picked up art, architecture, and slowly, he became a mastermind at anything he put his mind to, surely skills and talents worthy of envy. 

 

He loved music the most, he came to learn. He wrote what he felt a lot of the time through music. Things he just couldn’t seem to fit properly into words before came naturally with song. He’d mimic the orchestra that played above him for their matinee shows, and soon with time, he mastered perfect pitch as well. And then came rhythm. Notes he learned from the crinkled and forgotten sheet music abandoned by the pianist after each show was retired. And from music, Akechi learned what he believed to be compassion. He learned love from music and sought to own it for himself. He knew it existed. It had to have if every note the soprano screeched was about the betrayal of her beloved. It had to have if he could equate the laughter of two lovers to that of passion when the sound seeped through the floors of the opera house. Akechi could’ve watched it all, as he did at times, from behind the mirror. Though, he found it made him more angry and sullen than anything. An envy of love that he had never received unconditionally turned him rotten from the inside out. Abandoned shortly after birth, he believed that somehow his birth had done nothing but curse his mother, creating fear and loathing that left him unwanted and unloved. From that point on, Akechi knew that he would never know love. 

 

Down beneath the spiral staircases, he hid from the world above, whispering to those who paid visits to his opera house. No one truly stayed for long, for their desire of the meager pay they received once a month doing never truly outweighed their love of the theater— and so they left. Rumor of a man in a black mask spread to the full houses that often visited the opera house, but even they were never truly phased by his raspy whispers. In a way, this made Akechi feel at ease. For what laid beneath his mask was ugly and foul. To know that his presence could leave some unbothered gave him a sense of hope that perhaps slipping back into the cold world that had once rejected him might not be the worst idea. 

 

_ Please don’t take off my mask, my disguise. _

 

And so, Akechi Goro donned the persona of Black Mask for the world to see. A protruded beak was enough to make others keep their distance. What was his real intention then? Seeking love, groveling for it when none would come his way, and yet, he couldn’t bear to burden anyone from getting close to him. Allowing someone into that hellscape of his mind and broken heart, he knew it was a recipe for being abandoned yet again. The world showed no compassion for him, wielding his revenge on it, and yet he wanted nothing more than the world to love him. He had overheard that the new opera house managers would be coming tomorrow, and for that reason, he dressed himself and threw on the ragged, uneven cape around his shoulders before ascending to the world above him. 

 

He would be paying his new tenants a visit very soon. 

 

———

 

The first time Niijima Makoto swore she saw a ghost was in her dreams. She dreamt of someone watching her through the window, glass of some sort that rippled and twisted in an unrecognizable fashion. She woke up in a haze of darkness, indicating that night was still upon her. Her running footsteps woke up her father, and he knew. He embraced her until she fell fast asleep once more. The next year, Makoto had no one to run to when she woke up from her nightmares, and instead she’d cry herself to sleep. With her sister away at boarding school, she was alone for much of the rest of her life. In that loneliness, she spent all her free time making sure to follow in the footsteps of her father. All the while that she breathed, ate, and slept, she had delved all of that time to graduating from the police academy. There was no room for anything else. 

 

Makoto grew up, and she no longer believed in ghosts. She did, however, learn to sing. And when she sang, a voice seemed to echo back. It was strange, but one day she turned a corner so fast that there ought to be someone there. There wasn’t. She stopped doing this entirely, growing accustomed to the sound of music following her wherever she went, humming to herself as she studied. Sometimes, she’d fall asleep at her desk and there’d be this gentle caress once more along the length of her hair. Makoto would only smile in her sleep, dreaming of only a few years back, and how much she wished she could simply turn the hands on that old clock by her bedside back to a time when there was nothing in this world but dreamless sleep. 

 

But time stops for no one, and Makoto didn’t believe in ghosts. 

 

When the opera house called into the police one early morning, she heard the grumble of her colleague beside her muttering about how it was about time. She looked up briefly from her boring paperwork for a moment, trying her best to pen the details of her most recent case down as she watched him waltz around the office. It was unlikely, but Makoto hoped that she’d be sent to investigate the spectacle of the opera house. She used to visit it with her father and sister when she was younger, and since his death, she hadn’t bothered to go on her own. It would be an opportunity for her to look upon that old, crumbling building once more. 

 

“Niijima!”

 

She felt her heart pound, closing the folder to the unfinished file, she stood up immediately.

 

“Get your coat,” her supervisor grumbled, “It’s going to be cold.”

 

\------

 

The new managers huffed at the soprano. A diva, a primadonna they groveled for at her beck and call, was throwing her usual tantrum, though it seemed that this time there was some basis for it. Hardly anything they were ready to put up with, but they needed their lead, and they were ready to give in to her every whim and request. Sakamoto Ryuji and Kitagawa Yusuke were overwhelmed on their first day as the opera house managers, firmly believing that everyone there was obsessed or mad. 

 

“These  _ things _ have been happening for years!” Takamaki Ann rambled, “Would you believe that the previous manager did nothing about it? I hope you’re ready to show some responsibility now that you’re the new owners. Otherwise, I’m done.”

 

“Lady Ann…” Yusuke soothed, “It’s our first day in. We’re hardly in the know about what you might be talking about exactly.”

 

She opened her mouth at first to continue, but then realized that the rest of the cast had also stopped to look. Even the maestro had ceased the quiet practice of the orchestra to turn their attention to Ann, their leading star. 

 

“I’m talking about Black Mask,” she said quietly.

 

“Who…?” Ryuji asked.

 

“More formally known as the Opera Ghost,” a feminine voice piped up.

 

They’d turn their attention to the small figure in the corner. Sliding her glasses up, Sakura Futaba made her entrance for the first time. Her tiny form might have made others believe she was a part of the cast, but she quickly introduce herself as the opera house’s keeper. 

 

“I figured you two would know nothing about it, and Lady Ann’s been nagging me for ages to hire an investigator to check it out,” Futaba continued explaining, “Unfortunately, it’s a bit out of budget so… we opted for a bodyguard instead.”

 

“Bodyguard?!”

 

At the peak of everyone’s surprise, Ann’s especially, the curtain rose and in walked Niijima Makoto alongside her superior. No one in the theater assumed it would be her, and yet her face beamed under the stage lights, smiling too much at the opportunity she had been assigned. 

 

“May I introduce Niijima Makoto,” Futaba announced, “She’s a part of the police force nearby and we’ve worked with them to ensure that Makoto will watch over Lady Ann until the end of the opera season.”

 

“... But that’s just in two weeks!” Ann huffed.

 

“Precisely. We’ll keep her around, and if you find that you feel a tiny bit safer with her around then we’ll renegotiate the contract further. It’s just logistics, I’ll handle that part,” Futaba explained.

 

“I can’t believe this,” Ryuji sighed, “It hasn’t even been an hour.”

 

“You can’t deny that it’s interesting to say the least,” Yusuke told him.

 

Ryuji made an annoyed sound before pulling Yusuke off to the side. They spoke in hushed tones, as Ryuji reminded his partner that  _ they  _ would be the ones paying for the bodyguard. It’d be their responsibility now, and the entrepreneurship wasn’t just all fun and games.

 

“M-money?” Yusuke stammered, “Futaba just said an investigator is out of our-“

 

“She’s a bodyguard,” she cut in, “She’ll do just fine.”

 

“How much are we paying for this?!” Yusuke continued, ignoring her.

 

“I-I… I’ll do it for free if I have to!” Makoto chimed in.

 

Ann scoffed and the rest of the theater crew looked to Makoto for explanation. The sound of the orchestra’s quiet practice turned into silence. Makoto found that she hadn’t prepared an explanation, only that for so long, she wished to see the opera house again, and that the boring work she’d been assigned back to back at the station would no longer exist if she did her best. 

 

I need to do this, wasn’t a good enough explanation. No one needed to know what she was going through. In her nervousness, she glanced around the room for someone she could keep her eye contact with that wasn’t staring at her as if horns had grown from her head. That supposed someone happened to be a stagehand, still sweeping adamantly at the dust near the curtains to participate in the ridiculous conversation at hand. Makoto noted the ash brown hair on his head had been pulled into a low ponytail, allowing the fringe around his face to curve inwards and heavy bangs shield his eyes. In a strange sense, Makoto felt like she might have been able to rely on her intuition and assume he would be the first person she might speak to about the disturbances. 

 

She gained a sense of optimism, and clarity for a moment. The feeling faded quickly when the man stopped working to glance up at Makoto. A dark shade of red orbs stared back at her questionably, and Makoto’s eyes widened in realization that the entirety of the opera house was still waiting for her explanation. She flushed and immediately gave the first answer at hand.

 

“My father died here not too long ago,” she lied, “And… I propose it was the doings of the opera ghost you all speak of. He left me nothing except vengeance and I want nothing but justice for my father.”

 

The response surprised her supervisor, but he didn’t vocalize anything. He patted her once on the shoulder before bidding a quick farewell to the cast and crew, lighting a cigarette on his way out. She was in their hands whether they liked it or not, and with her deadly proposal from earlier, the tides had shifted in their favor. 

 

“Well, if it’s revenge the poor girl wants then give it to her,” Ann scoffed, “As long as she doesn’t make things worse around here, I can at least pretend things are getting better.”

 

“I-I won’t let you down, I swear it!” Makoto promised.

 

“Your words mean nothing to me for now. Do  _ something  _ about these disturbances or —mark my words —I’m out of here! Maestro!”

 

The conductor straightened immediately, flipping through the pages of the manuscript quickly to assume where Ann wished to pick up rehearsing. Everyone in the orchestra was frantic for a few seconds, and then the dust settled immaculately.

 

“Oh, and you’ll refer to me as Ann,” the primadonna added, “I’m not so bad as everyone makes me out to be.”

 

Makoto sighed for a moment, happy to know that she’d be able to pick her brain later now that she’s made it clear she’s not just some ego-driven maniac with paranoia. She wouldn’t know that for certain, but Makoto felt like even if she wanted to  _ act _ like an investigator, it would probably be best to stay by Ann’s side. Serving her many requests around the theater would be out of the question, though, so Makoto opted to stay behind the curtains or off to the side while she took note of all those that interacted with Ann. 

 

She was mesmerized further when she watched Ann warmup for a few seconds, adjusting herself as she prepared to sing. The light twinkle of the piano started and soon, Ann was singing. Makoto felt herself being lifted off the stage and into the crowd. Lights were off as she clutched her sister’s and father’s hands while they watched the performance unfold before them. Young Makoto’s eyes widened and tried so hard to keep up with everything happening all at once, the smile never leaving her.

 

The Makoto now had a hardened face, watching the performance with no emotion. Even in her dreams, she had never returned back to the opera house, and hadn’t even tried to think about it again after her father’s passing. It was as if her love of everything seemingly died that day. And yet, the song felt so familiar, so painful as Ann sang the words that resonated and clanged every bone of Makoto’s body. 

 

She tightened her grasp of her hands folded neatly across her front, holding back a painful feeling in her throat as she was brought to emotion. 

 

“If you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me,” Makoto whispered to herself, recognizing the song anywhere. 

 

The stage had cleared, the house was dark with lights shining only on Ann as she reached those high notes. Makoto was thankful that she might be given the chance to cry in the dark, but she didn’t. Even with the emotions at hand, she hardened her demeanor and quickly returned behind the curtains in hopes of catching someone who might dare to pull a prank during practice. 

 

She found that everyone had been in their places, prepping for their own parts in the opera, assistants all in their places, Yusuke and Ryuji off in the back arguing money with Futaba. The stagehand from earlier was nowhere to be found, but Makoto didn’t register the thought as important. 

 

From above the theater, along the high old beams, the phantom, lovingly dubbed Black Mask, stood in silence and darkness. He watched Makoto meander below him, forcing herself to be useful. He scoffed, and his mouth pulled in a grin as he wondered if this might teach the opera house a lesson in respect. He looked at her from up above, noting the braided headband across her head, hardly an accessory a member of the police unit would wear lest she prefer looking like a joke. He had seen the red eyes from earlier, too red to refer to as ruby, and too bright to be considered normal. Her appearance concerned him for a moment, appearing far too beautiful to be in a position of the police.

 

Even so, Black Mask didn’t find her particularly interesting to look at, simply that he’d recognize and encourage beauty wherever he saw it. Beauty might have been the death of him if he sought love in it. There were many girls that were to that standard in the opera house, Takamaki Ann was one of them. Okumura Haru, her understudy was another. Even Sakura Futaba, who inherited the duties of managing the theater from her adoptive father, might have been beautiful if Black Mask thought about it. 

 

But, if his feelings might have relied on said appearances alone, he wouldn’t have been contemplating dropping an object over Makoto’s head, as he were considering now. It was undeniable that things would return to as they were if he killed her now, and he held no interest or sympathy for the story she told to reconsider. After all, Black Mask had yet to kill anyone. She was a liar. He growled when his masked eyes wandered to the two fools running his theater, knowing very well their panic would erupt if he killed the investigator now. 

 

Ann’s song had ended, and the opportunity of the loud booming orchestra that would have hid the strangled sound of Makoto dying faded out. The voices ruptured once more and returned to their loud side conversations. Ann wrestled with the maestro, Yuuki Mishima, as she always did and things were as they were, Makoto’s appearance going nearly unheard of. So, Black Mask kept her around. Raising one arm intending to disappear into the dark, he found himself stopped by the familiar voice. 

 

“Is anyone up there?!” Makoto shouted, seemingly having heard the swish of his cape.

 

_ Fool. _

 

She seemed pleased when there was no reply, as if there would be one even if there was someone up there. He scoffed again at her stupidity, but the feeling left as quick as it came when he heard her climbing up the ladder. He would be able to disappear without a trace, and yet, he humored her a little while longer. Perhaps he’d drop something to the ground of the stage and she’d run back down to pick up like a scurrying mouse. Instead, he hid in silence, knowing very well she wouldn’t see him even if she tried. A few more pegs up the ladder and Makoto was mere inches away from him. In the dark, illuminated only by the dim lights from the far off stage, Makoto familiarized herself with the attic area while no danger appeared apparent. 

 

Up close, Black Mask could tell that she was no ordinary woman. There was some sort of untapped rage that she held within her, a scream of which she silenced. He could tell that she had been crying earlier now —did his song have such an impact on her? He froze when she silently hummed the parts of ‘Think Of Me’ to herself, reaching the high notes without problem. 

 

Black Mask narrowed his eyes.  _ Who are you? _

 

If Makoto could see, she might have screamed at the sight of him. But having gone away for too long from Ann, Makoto made her descent down the ladder after finding nothing. Black Mask sat with himself, carding through his broken memories of where he might have known Niijima Makoto from. Nothing seemed to come to fruition, and he didn’t dare believe she’d tell him even if he earned her trust as the stagehand. He quickly descended down a shaft to his hideout, his palace, returning to his world down below as Makoto danced in a tangle with the fools above. 


End file.
